


Sent by Jove

by Jougetsu



Series: Lightning and Clockwork [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Courtship, Dash of Intrigue, Giddy Romantic meets a Sweet-Talking Dork, Historical Romance, M/M, Romance, The Brothers Lovingly Meddlesome, The Butler is Beleaguered, Time Travel, Victorian, With Artistic Liberties Taken
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-10-18 02:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17572199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/pseuds/Jougetsu
Summary: Anthony "Duckling" Spencer has at last learned the name of his mysterious stranger, with all the smiles and sighs that entails! However, Ernesto Eliot might be more than he appears to be, at least according to Anthony's well-meaning friends and relations.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [aurilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/gifts), [Prinzenhasserin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/gifts), [MildredMost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildredMost/gifts), [Liviania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviania/gifts), [susiecarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/gifts), [mizstorge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizstorge/gifts).



> For everyone who wanted to know more about Duckling and Company! <3 I was touched beyond measure by your love for the original short story.

_Autumn 1861_

Rain in late October was a miserable affair. It could never decide if it wanted to be a sullen chilly mist or an aggravated pattering. The sun could hardly be bothered to make an appearance most days, the proverbial grand dame who refused to come below stairs for her nerves were aflutter. 

Anthony Spencer barely noticed. Perhaps there were no songbirds or budding crocuses, but his mood was of that of light-hearted spring. If he woke to grey clouds who cared? Certainly not Anthony! There was a fire roaring in the grate, hot tea on the tray, the morning paper, and three days out of seven there came a tender missive from Mr E. 

“Good morning, sir,” Randall entered once Anthony had responded to his knock. How his valet managed to bring up the tray with such agility Anthony could never figure, but was in awe of regardless. 

“Good morning, Randall,” Anthony beamed. Indeed, beamed. There may have well as been a sun glowing in his chest. “It is a lovely morning is it not?”

Randall opened the velvet drapes and surveyed the rain drenched vista. “Is it, sir?” 

Anthony laughed hard enough he nearly snorted out the tea he had just sipped. “Perhaps it is not objectively speaking a lovely morning to everyone. But you know Randall, sometimes we have to find our own beauty in things.” 

The morning paper was already folded to the society pages, bless Randall. Of course Anthony would get around to reading the duller political and economic bits, but really who could stomach those before breakfast? More importantly who could stomach them before tea? 

“Oh, Miss Ruby Fallon is engaged at last,” Anthony chirped to his valet as he skimmed the latest items. “Christopher Beauchamp is good sort of fellow. Not as wealthy as she could have aimed for, but all the better for it as he’s much kinder than Thomas Jenkins who seemed certain to get her hand.” 

“Indeed, that is what I’ve heard from others,” Randall nodded as he began piecing out Anthony’s wardrobe for the morning. The others here meant the servants, merchants, and other assorted folk outside that narrow pool of gentry. 

Anthony reflected how lucky he was to have known Randall since they were children. Hazelbend, that modest Georgian manor of the Spencer holdings, boasted a long history of genuine mutual admiration between its lord and its tenants. Randall was the son of the butler’s niece and thought to be a good playmate for the Spencer boys. While he was closer in age to Nathan the two were too similar in temperament to be truly friend-like with each other. Instead he doted on Anthony and became a surrogate brother to him when Biffles and Nate were away at school. Subsequently he knew Anthony better than perhaps anyone in the world and Anthony thought the world of him. It seemed a pity that Randall was a valet, everyone agreed. He was certainly competent enough to become a head butler though really he could have also been a fine professor or politician or doctor if not for his birth. 

“I see no shame in service,” Randall had told Anthony when he came to set up Anthony’s home in London. “I have no regrets or lost ambitions.” 

Though Lord Spencer had offered to send Randall away to school, the best schools possible that would accept him, Randall had quietly refused. A twinge of guilt sometimes roosted in Anthony’s throat for deep down he had a strong inclination that Randall had refused to leave for Anthony’s sake - to make sure he was never lonesome. 

“Is this tea a new blend, Randall?” Anthony abruptly pulled his thoughts away from the unpleasant turn they had been taking. 

“A new variation that Missus Weston had been extolling,” said Randall, a faint smile. “I suspected you would find it pleasing.” 

“Your taste is unparalleled,” Anthony declared. “By the by, Randall, was there anything in the post this morning?” 

“No messages this morning, sir.” 

Anthony was not entirely deflated, sometimes Mr E’s missives came in the afternoon. “You must tell me if I am acting in an unseemly manner, Randall. I am quite aware that I have become somewhat giddy of late. But there is an acceptable level of such things and then there is an unacceptable level.” 

“You have yet to become unseemly in your manners,” said Randall. 

What a relief! 

“Oh Randall, not that cravat! It is too gloomy for my effervescent mood. Is there not something more perky in my bureau? A canary yellow or French rose? Nothing garish, but it must catch and tease the eye.” 

“Your navy and hunter checked trousers and dark blue waistcoat would not look amiss with your emerald and silver grey cravat.” Randall awaited Anthony’s reply. 

“No canary?” Anthony Spencer did not whine. He was simply plaintive betimes. 

“Perhaps the goldenrod would do? The canary is better suited for your apparel in the spring.” 

Goldenrod was not canary. On the other hand it was not mustard either. Lit the by fire the length of goldenrod silk was molten and enchanting. “Perhaps it will do after all, Randall.” 

The general effect of the ensemble was better than Anthony had expected. While the palette was not particularly exciting the melange gave a certain glow to Anthony’s features. His complexion was brighter, his eyes seemed nearly blue, and for once the auburn undertones of his otherwise ordinary brown locks lent a regal air. “Oh Randall, you are a sorcerer. How do you make these mere pieces into a masterpiece?” 

Randall shook his head suppressing his mirth. “I dare say you would not be ashamed to be seen by your Mister E attired thusly.” 

“If dear Mister E could see me! We all wear black at the Club, you know. To keep anonymous and not be recognized and so forth. He has clapped eyes upon black-jacketed Anthony and never the Anthony who sallies forth in lavender pantaloons or ruby silk waistcoats!” 

“More’s the pity.” Randall at least could feign sympathy even if he thought Anthony frivolous. “In all probability your Mister E delights mot in your company than in your attire.” 

Anthony and Randall’s combined taste was vindicated by noon. 

“Goldenrod is becoming on you,” Sarah told him at luncheon.

Anthony preened. “All Randall’s suggestion I assure you.”

“Really we ought to go to the milliner and my dressmaker with Randall in tow,” Sarah said. “Underhill has wonderful taste however she finds the shops tedious and I adore her too much to torment her so.”

William put down his book to arch his eyebrows at his wife and youngest brother. “My darling wife, do try to recall that we both have a budget for sartorial expenses. One has the notion that often excellent taste goes hand-in-hand with dear goods.” 

“I have not gone over my monthly allotment!” Anthony said hotly. “Randall would never try to drain your purse, Biffles.” 

“Duckling, your coats and cravats do not use nearly the amount of yardage of an evening dress.” William pinched the bridge of his nose, but when his eyes met the gaze of his wife he smiled warmly. “Though I am perfectly aware it is not Sarah’s fault that the mode du jour is voluminous in every way.” 

“Indeed it is surely not,” agreed Sarah. She smoothed her skirt and sighed half mockingly. “I myself favor a narrower silhouette if only for convenience of navigation.” 

“Upon that point I do not envy you,” Anthony nibbled at the cold roast beef. “Ladies may have the luxury of more interesting jewelry and accessories, but there is a higher price of discomfort to pay to be a woman of fashion. There is little vexing about men’s fashion save its current mania for somber hues.” 

“You trust my judgment, is that not so, Mister Spencer?” Sarah batted her eyelashes fatuously. “I remember your praising of my acumen more than once.” 

“You know that I do,” William left his book to cross the room and kiss Sarah’s hand with gallantry and tenderness enough to make any observer’s heart ache.

Not that Anthony was aching. 

Really it was more accurately called a pang. Mister E was every inch his own romantic hero, but they were confined to their Club. There was no breakfasting in their home, no intimate luncheons, no dancing together in a hall where the whole world could see. 

“I trust you, Sarah. So much so that I’ll trust that not even Randall will lead your purse into penury. And really, sweetest, it is less that I trust you and more that I know well how persuasive Randall can be.”

“Biffles,” Anthony perked up suddenly. “Did you ever notice what Sarah wore when you were courting?” 

“Did I?” William asked Sarah. “It was an eon ago, several millennia at the very least. How could this old man possibly recall?” 

“One hopes he noticed at least a little.” Sarah laughed and half tried to pull William down onto her lap. “I never fretted over my attire as much as I did whilst he courted me. I was petrified I would wear a hue that would turn me sallow or that my arrangement of curls would make me resemble a lapdog.” 

“I remember that dowdy dress you wore that weekend we met in Sussex.” William twisted out of Sarah’s hold instead encouraging her up to stand. They danced a few steps in place. “Your friend Miss Driscoll had spilt tea on the one you were wearing and your maid could not find a suitable replacement for your trunk had gotten lost. There you were in a borrowed olive gown that did not quite fit yet you were more radiant than any other person in attendance.” 

The very notion of Sarah, lovely though sensible Sarah, in a misshapen dress was incredible to Anthony. “That is understandable. My good sister is beatific even in morning dress.” 

Sarah graced Anthony with an expression of sisterly love then turned to give her husband’s nose a vicious tweak. “How awful you remember that frock and not my violet silk with the red trim.”

“I remember that one well!” William chuckled. “You were a Grandville flower queen come to life. No one could keep their eyes off of you that evening. Or perhaps they could, but I would never know for I spent the entirety of the ball bitterly despising society’s rule that I could not dance more than three dances with you until we were wed.” 

Being a full ten years William’s junior Anthony had been away at school during his brother’s courtship. Never before had it troubled him, but now it made him feel deficient in the intricacies of romance, of love. William was easy to talk to most of the time. Nathan was also a stellar exemplar of brotherhood, but while he had always listened to Anthony’s troubles in earnest Anthony could not picture him giving advice from the heart. Nathan’s advice came from his cool logical mind the origin of which was a true mystery as neither the Spencers nor the Hartwoods were known to possess that unruffled keenness. 

“Is there someone whose eye you hope to capture this winter, Duckling?” William asked. “Someone at your Club? Or one of your dancing partners such as Miss Everman? Miss Cooper? Widowed Mrs Greenfield?”

“Miss Mattie and I like to speak of art,” Anthony answered. “Miss Juliet Cooper likes to practice her Greek because her family thinks it uncouth for a lady to have a classical education. And Mrs Greenfield is a fiendishly funny gossip so she makes sure to dance with everyone. You know that I cannot love any woman proper enough to make her happy.” 

“Some women are of a sapphic bent,” Sarah said candidly enough that William half choked. “Really Mr Spencer you would think you were not related to or acquainted with such folks. Though Anthony if you ever needed to be married or wanted to be married I know which ladies would gladly give you their hand to safeguard both your reputations and allow for individual pursuit of felicity.” 

The notion was not altogether a bad one. To be shielded from general scrutiny Anthony would have far less to worry about as he aged. A bachelor of eight-and-twenty was not remarkable. A bachelor of five-and-forty was considerably more so if he was a man of some means. Still some measure of distaste must have shown upon his visage for William raised his brows and shook his head. “Is it distasteful to you? I assure you Duckling, any lady Sarah vouches for would not think badly of you.” 

“Biffles, it is one thing to deceive high society.” Anthony gave up on finishing his meal for his innards went leaden quite suddenly. “And though I would not be lying to the lady I would be lying to God. Perhaps in time it would not trouble my heart but for the present I do not believe I could walk into a church, look a priest in the eye, and make a vow before the Lord to be faithful and fruitful with a wife.” 

William and Sarah shared a glance that Anthony could not decipher, but decided he did not care. “Ah well, it was a passing thought,” William said. “It is well you have a conscience, little duck. Too many of our fellows seem to have lost it somewhere between Eton and Oxford without ever noticing its absence.” 

The lead in Anthony’s stomach transmorgified into a few stones and Anthony was almost light with gaiety by the time he left at three o’clock. 

Oil-cloth black umbrellas were good for one thing and that was to make a rainy day gloomier. Or to make any group of folk look like enormous crows bobbing about the streets of London. Really umbrellas ought to be cheerful to make up for the deficit of sunshine to Anthony’s mind. Just as colorful and flamboyant as any sun parasol. These were the thoughts Anthony chose to distract himself with while he went about town otherwise his mind strayed to thinking about Ernesto. What would Mister E think of that restaurant? Had Mister E been to that dear little park yet? What colors would his tailor dress choose to garb Mister E? To let those thoughts continue unabated was rather too fatiguing for Anthony’s taxed heart. Sixteen year old Anthony could spend hours upon hours musing upon a man of his fancy. Twenty-eight year old Anthony was more prone to melancholy as he considered everything that could never be for any romance undertaken by him. 

Luckily Anthony was entirely cured of melancholy upon entering his foyer and being informed that there was indeed a note for him.

_Dear-heart,_

_If I could have but a single wish it would be to dance in your arms every evening. What charm you cast is unknowable to my humble self though I am happily:_

_Your devoted servant for all time,_

_E-_

Were they a conventional couple they could exchange lengthier correspondence and even send it by post. But two lines from Mister Eliot was greater than any weighty envelope from anyone else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony embarks on a challenge more delicate than any decision regarding fashion, to meet his Mr Eliot by daylight. And a return to the infamous social club!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's encouragement and kind words are a comfort beyond measure! It thrills me to think that you are finding some entertainment and enjoyment from these characters that have become so dear to me. Thank you all so very much!

Anthony Spencer had never felt the pangs of love quite so desperately. Which meant he had to inform his valet directly. 

“Randall, never I have felt the pangs of love quite so desperately,” he sighed and held this week’s latest love letter love letter to his chest. 

Randall looked up from where he was polishing the silver, as Anthony despised being lonesome in the study Randall was at liberty to perform tasks in his presence. “Indeed, sir.”

“Do you think it foolish of me?” Anthony held back another sigh as the image of Mister Ernesto Eliot swam before his eyes. “Eight-and-twenty years of age and practically swooning! I am ridiculous, Randall! And I am even more ridiculous because I do not want to be cured of it!” 

Barely a decade older than his master Randall had seen Anthony grow from babbling infant to sensitive man. While he was cut from a more pragmatic cloth Randall did not despair of his young master. “Love makes fools of many.”

Which was Randall-ese for ‘Master Anthony you are being somewhat foolish, but it is endearing enough one cannot scold you.’ 

“I would prefer not to be a fool if I could help it,” Anthony slumped so that he was half nested in the sofa cushions. “Of course one could not be sensible and be in the thrall of tender amor. Good sense is love’s antidote.”

If Randall’s lips twitched upward at his speech he would not acknowledge it. “A very astute observation, sir.” 

But oh, how could Anthony be sensible? Ernesto’s charms were innumerable as stars in the Milky Way and Anthony was helpless to his attentions. 

“You must scold me if I am being too heedless, Randall,” Anthony wagged his finger though his pout rather dampened the overall effect. “For I wish to see Mr E outside the club. Not for any prurient dalliance, mind you, but to be able to go to tea or stroll through the museums on a whim.” 

“Is that wise, sir?” Randall purposefully did not look up. He had no wish to scold his master like a child even if the memory of Duckling, gap-toothed, curly haired, and full of a five year old’s self importance was readily at hand. 

“I may have been the tiniest wee bit spoiled,” Anthony conceded. “Most of my lovers had been my classmates at Eton. There was no reason it would be strange for us to be seen around town socializing. And as for those I had met only at the Club those affaires de coeur never progressed far enough where I felt the need to see them outside that sanctuary. Mister Eliot is different in every way conceivable. Technically speaking we did not first meet at the Club for I brought him here after he was struck by lightning. We know each other’s names and current residences, a grave violation of the Club rules had we had been introduced there.” 

“Do remind me, sir, what Mister Eliot does? Has he an occupation or a past time?” Picking up one of the most elaborate silver serving pieces Randall nodded pensively indicating he was prepared to apply all of his considerable intellect to Anthony’s predicament. 

“He is a traveler and amateur engineer,” Anthony said promptly. “He’s traveled all over the Continent and once to the States. Mister Eliot tinkers with clockwork and little machines for his amusement.” 

“And is he an Eliot?” The inflection was inescapable. 

“To my knowledge he is one of the cousins,” said Anthony. “His mother was an Essex Eliot and married his father, a noble Spaniard. They lived in Switzerland until their death whereupon his Uncle Eliot adopted Mister Eliot and educated him on the Continent. He has visited England before, but only since this September last has he decided to make it his home for the foreseeable future.”

“Percival Stanton is a relation of the Eliots is he not?” 

To Anthony’s shame it took him more than a few moments to realize who Randall meant. “Oh, Pinky! Yes, Pinky’s mother’s people are Eliots. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Pinky in over a year. I wonder if he still collects and mounts butterflies.” 

“I could make inquiries to see if the two have been in contact since Mister Eliot’s arrival,” Randall offered. 

“And if I offer to take Pinky to luncheon to become reacquainted he is almost bound to bring along his new cousin. There is nothing so fashionable as to show off a Continental relation to lend oneself an air of glamor and mystery for a few weeks. Randall, you utter marvel! And I shall wear my newest waistcoat and gloves and Mister E will see me anew in daylight splendor!” 

Of course there was the very distinct possibility that Mister E would not want to see Anthony in aforementioned daylight splendor. However, Anthony could salvage a silver lining from that as well. If Mister Eliot was displeased with the meeting than it would take the glow off their association and then Anthony would not torment himself with *delusions that they were perfectly attuned to each other. No doubt in time the shine would wear off and Anthony would return to semi-comfortable loneliness. Not that he was in a hurry to return to that state, but infatuation had become alien to him since his heart had been so long dormant in that department. 

With the latest note hidden in his waistcoat pocket Anthony made his way to the Club the next evening after a particularly nice dinner. Perhaps too nice, his waistcoats would get snug if Anthony ate too heartily every evening. Already he had a little plumpness about the waist and had a horror of being described as ‘portly’ before reaching the age of forty. 

“Beastly weather,” Raph said by way of greeting. He lifted his glass of amber liquor in a mock salute and patted the space on the loveseat beside him. “How goes it, Amoretto?” 

Rule one of the Club was that every man must use an alias to avoid blackmail. Some chose their aliases. Others had their aliases thrust upon them.

Anthony was of the latter group. 

“I would much prefer the snow to this rain.” He tried not to pull a face at being called ‘Little Cupid.’ What had seemed appropriate and adoring when he was eighteen felt dismal ten years on. He stole a sip of Raph’s drink even though it earned him a teasing pinch to his earlobe. “How was your out-of-town business last week? Was the coach ride decent at least?” 

“Better than the worst ride I’ve had and worse than the best ride I’ve had,” said Raph. “But everything was satisfactory in the end. I did miss you all dreadfully. The company was not nearly lively enough.” 

At that Anthony had to laugh merrily. For those who did not know him they would assume Raph to be of a dour disposition. He was tall and spindly with a countenance like the sternest schoolmaster to ever walk the Earth. The timbre of his voice was naturally gravelly and his aquiline nose defied anyone to take him less than completely seriously. In short, people at large assumed Raph to be staid, dull, and preferring the most treacherously boring of past times. Nothing could be further from the truth. At the Club at least Raph was the first to get up a dance or make nervous newcomers laugh with good-natured jocularity or affect a silly persona when he joined in the card games. 

“Did anyone throw a prospective wife at you?” Anthony rested his head on Raph’s bony shoulder. 

“And you protest being called ‘Amoretto,’” Raph shook his head ruefully. “I had no less than two spinsters and a widow thrown my way. A new record for me as the trip was merely two days. It was a sorry thing for they all assumed I would sermonize like a deacon and shun any lighthearted activity. One of them even said she could tell that I was a godly man who would never trod upon the dance floor for that was a direct entrance to Hades.”

Shaking with laughter Anthony nearly began to hiccup from the folly of it all. “Poor Mister Raphael! What would they think to see you now! Come, we must have you dance tonight to make up for such an awful time you had.” 

Raph pressed an affectionate kiss to Anthony’s temple. “You spoil everyone dreadfully, Little Cupid. I pray your foreign gentleman treats you with the worship you deserve.” 

“You shall be the first to know if he begins to slacken.” The contact warmed Anthony’s heart and had him wriggling puppy-like. While members of the Club could avail themselves of rooms upstairs for trysting it was chiefly a social club. Simply being in the company of other men who shared the same inclination of the heart was a balm that lasted for them to return back to the frontlines of Normality without succumbing to black despair. “Then you may scold him to your heart’s content or whip his palms with a ruler or what have you.” 

“Nonsense,” Raph lifted his chin and affected an even stuffier demeanor. “We shall roundly shun him from the card tables and play every song you request on the piano forte.” 

“Is that Amoretto?” Broad-shouldered Bernard came round with a gentleman Anthony did not know on his arm. 

“Good Evening, Bernard,” Anthony sat up nicely. “And to you as well, sir.” 

“Smith,” the stranger supplied. He was not much out of the common way being of average height and build and features, but Anthony had a suspicion he was brighter than he seemed. 

“I say Amoretto,” Bernard started. “Whatever happened to that mystery man of yours?” 

“The foreigner? He dances with Amoretto all week and turns other men’s eyes green in the process,” Raph said glibly. “You’ve have not been so absent as to miss that have you, Busy Bee?”

“Not that gentleman,” Bernard turned to Smith. “We call him ‘Aeneas’ hereabouts. No, I mean the one that went up in smoke! The one Amoretto told us about some weeks ago!” 

“Oh!” Anthony could feel the tip of his nose and his ears going red, and was grateful Mister Eliot was not here to see that. There was only one man who knew that the man-who-went-up-in-smoke and Mister Eliot were one and the same and that man was Randall. Mostly because Anthony could never successfully lie to Randall and also because Randall had been the one who helped take Mister Eliot in when he was struck by lightning. Something about the entire scenario made Anthony loathe to make it public knowledge. Mister E had never sworn him to secrecy on that account yet Anthony thought discretion the better part of valor in this case. “I dare say I have not seen him again. Part of me thinks I must have imagined the entire encounter after too much of the punch.” 

“Wouldn’t it be thrilling if there were demons or fallen angels hiding in plain sight in London?” Bernard said half out of breath at his own thoughts. “Rubbing elbows with us mere mortals and none of us the wiser?” 

The left corner of Smith’s mouth twitched as though a sardonic sort of smile wanted to emerge from its cocoon, but did not quite dare. “But would they be so foolish as to betray themselves so easily? If they have been hiding from humanity why do the very thing that would make any man realize that something, someone supernatural was afoot?” 

“They could be a youngster of a demon,” Bernard barreled on. “Untutored in the ways of disguising themselves. Or they might have assumed that intoxicated men are unlikely to investigate their comings-and-goings and more likely to write them off as the effects of drink.” 

While Anthony had yet to reconcile Mister Eliot’s odd debut in a lightning storm and that strange exit in a cloud of smoke he was comfortable in the knowledge that Mister Eliot was entirely human. Surely between himself, Randall, and Doctor Bryant they would have noticed demonic or angelic traits when they tended to him that night. Besides would not a supernatural being be unaffected by lightning? Would they not lack a pulse or be unable to be bruised? All this evidence of humanity made it easy to listen to Bernard’s suppositions with amusement in lieu of fear or doubt. 

“If demons or angels are cavorting in London they’re being tedious about it,” said Raph in a drawl. He petted Anthony’s hair, undoing Randall’s attempt at coiffure unbeknownst to the valet. “All one reads in the newspaper is all too human evils and human mercies of the world. Mind you, I’ve no doubt more than one demi-godling or demon was certainly running around in the days of hellfire clubs. But those rituals are at an end and our little circles are too staid and genteel to attract a little devil on the prowl for merriment.” 

Smith sipped his drink slowly. Anthony could tell he was chewing over every word in his mind, turning each sentence around in his head the way one might appraise an antique or prepare their strategy for a spectacularly difficult jigsaw puzzle. Just when it seemed he would speak Smith cleared his throat audibly and squeezed Bernard’s hand twice. 

“R-really?” Bernard flushed and nearly tripped over his own feet as he rose. “I say!” 

Smith stood with the liquid grace of a silk unfolding and led Bernard to the stairs where an attendant made their arrangements for a room. 

“That was awfully queer,” Anthony remarked once the pair was out of earshot. “Bernard hasn’t used the upstairs rooms in at least five years. And that Smith is a new fellow, too.”

“Indeed,” Raph said. “It’s a tad uncharacteristic for Busy Bee to actually be busy with another, especially one he is not long with acquainted.” 

“I do hope Smith is a good man,” Anthony chewed on his lower lip and leaned further into Raph’s side. “Bernard deserves happiness.” 

“You believe every person deserves happiness and mutual felicity, Amoretto,” said Raph managing to sound both bemused and endeared. The sound of a Scottish country dance began up and several men began to rise for dancing. 

“They do,” protested Anthony. “Think of how much better the world would run if every person could be beloved and contented!” 

“You are Venus’ own philosopher,” Raph soothed. “Now I was promised a dance and as Aeneas is not present will you do me the honor, Amoretto?” 

Anthony adjusted his mask, for it had gone slightly askew while he was curled against his friend. “Remember, only two toe trods allowed. Any more than that and you will find me hunting for a more adroit man.” 

At half past one Anthony decided it had been a more diverting night than he had anticipated considering the absence of Mister Eliot. But they had never promised to meet every night, no one at the Club had the luxury of being there every night. He reread his precious note before he turned down the lamp. 

“I do hope you like me in the light of day, dear Mister E,” he whispered in the dark. 

If Anthony kissed the paper after he folded it and then gently tucked it in his pillowcase there was no one there to judge. 

Hope never held the same shape in his heart from one hour to the next. Which meant when Anthony woke up for a glass of water he felt certain of rejection and an hour later felt quite the opposite. It was maddening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony finally gets his wish to meet Ernesto by daylight by way of luncheon with Percival "Pinky" Stanton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for everyone's feedback! I love hearing about your favorite characters and scenes and just all your thoughts! I hope you enjoy this chapter, too!

Percival “Pinky” Stanton was a curious blend of awkward and effortlessly chummy. You could not help but be simultaneously slightly annoyed yet wholly charmed by him. When they were boys at Eton, Anthony and Pinky were never too far from each other. Surprisingly, they were not given to Greek affection with each other. Pinky inspired fraternal rather than amorous feelings in young Anthony’s wide heart. 

Which helped ease Anthony’s nerves as he entered the hotel restaurant. Pinky was there, tie not quite perfectly situated because of his bad habit of tugging at it, gesturing wildly as he spoke with Mister Eliot who was indeed in attendance. Without the domino mask Mister Eliot was even more striking than memory presented. The deep red of his sack coat warmed his complexion and his dapper collar had Anthony wanting to pepper kisses along where it touched his neck. 

(And while Anthony would have still loved an unfashionable Mister E it pleased him that their sense of mode were not incompatible.)

“Anthony, here you are at last!” Pinky upset his tea cup as he rose and it was Mister Eliot’s swift dexterity that righted it before it could do any real damage. “Hasn’t it been ages? You haven’t seen my mounted lunar moth yet, have you?” 

“I don’t believe so for it sounds grand,” Anthony pushed down the butterflies in his stomach. If only one could mount those and be rid of them! “You look exceedingly well, Pinky.” 

If Mister E was displeased to see Anthony there was no trace of such on his visage. Indeed Mister Eliot’s smile widened and his honey-colored eyes sparkled with good humor. Anthony reasoned that Pinky had told him the name of their dining companion and if Mister Eliot had wanted out of the meeting he could have made arrangements to be elsewhere.

“Anthony Spencer this is my cousin Ernest Eliot, recently come from the Continent.” Pinky said. “Cousin Ernest this is Anthony Spencer, my schoolmate and friend I was telling you about.” 

Anthony noticed the Anglicization and flattered himself that Ernesto had trusted him with his birth name. 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Eliot.” If a heart could stutter Anthony’s had a go at it. He was fairly sure he did not blush. Or if Anthony did it wasn’t enough for Pinky to take notice. 

“I can assure you Mister Spencer the pleasure is exquisitely mine.” Mister Eliot shook his hand, firm and purposefully. 

A stab of pity for the fairer sex went through Anthony. If he had the misfortune to be laced into a corset he surely would have fainted on the spot. They never shook hands at the Club, for they were beyond that gesture of greeting. Anthony was better acquainted with those hands around his waist or stroking the nape of his neck or bringing Anthony’s hand to his lips to be kissed. 

“There is certainly an Eliot family resemblance,” Anthony mused aloud. Pinky and Ernesto’s similarity in their chins and foreheads was unmistakable and there was a suggestion in the nose. Pinky’s eyebrows were bushier than Mister Eliot’s elegant arches not to mention their coloring was as different as a white cheese moon and a delectably golden bronze sun, but they both were most definitively of Eliot clan heritage. “What brings you to London this season, Mister Eliot? Pinky’s lunar moth is an attraction to be sure, but that will keep a while as that is the nature of mounted specimens.” 

“Oh it was no item singular,” Mister Eliot took his seat as his companions did likewise. “It had been too many years since I had been in the country of my dear mother. Since I was a much smaller Eliot there have been opera houses and museums built that I have yet to see.” 

“And to seek an English bride is what our aunts are saying,” Pinky said without a trace of shame. “Not that I believe of word of it.” 

Mister Eliot pursed his lips and chuckled. “How dare you, Percival! Are you saying that I am so finicky that I could not be swayed by the multitudes of English beauties that populate London? Or are you dismissing those beauties as lesser than their Continental counterparts?” 

How can I fall more in love with him the more he speaks? Anthony wondered. I have yet to tire of him and I’m nearly prepared to say I never could tire of him. 

“You misunderstand me on purpose!” Pinky playfully wagged his finger at Mister Eliot. “You are a man of science, cousin, much like myself. The greatest charms for you in the city are places where you can procure your gadgets and meet other tinkerers. Less than two hours ago you were waxing over bronze gears and iron files.” 

The waiter came to refill their cups and another was at his heels bringing their meal. Anthony had no fear that Pinky ordered anything other than the delectable. Their palates were similar enough that they could always order for the other. 

“Is that another Eliot trait?” asked Anthony. “Not the gears specifically, but the men of science bit.” 

“Is it?” the two Eliot men asked each other in unison.

“I must be admitting that I know all too few of my fellow Eliot clansmen outside of Uncle,” said Mister Eliot. “His passion was navigation and maps, would one be calling that a science?” 

“Aunt Eugenia is master of breeding rose cultivars,” said Pinky tilting his head slightly. “And Grandmama does adore rock formations. There are entire albums of her sketches.” 

“That’s a step up from Spencers,” Anthony said with real appreciation. “We’re a bit too airy to be pinned down with the gravitas of such intellect. Mother Dearest is a Hartwood and our zeal from that corner is the arts. Were I born Antonia I’m sure I would have a beautiful collection of watercolors to bore my suitors and a handful of more scandalous oil paintings that Father would Disapprove of with a capital D.” 

Mister Eliot and Pinky chuckled, clearly trying to envision Antonia Spencer. The former then dared to ask, “Have you ever sat for a portrait, Mister Spencer?” 

“There is a sentimental family portrait from when I was in short pants, Pinky this is an excellent filet thank you for ordering for me,” Anthony replied. “The poor artist, Mister Burroughs, had to take liberties in the rendering as I am told I was a squirming nightmare. Family legend says I sniffled, pouted, wriggled, and thrice made a dash for it - one time nearly upending the easel. Thus the resulting portrait has a rather stiff, doll-like rendering of yours truly.” 

“Poor Mister Burroughs,” lamented Mister E. 

Anthony very much wanted to kiss the laugh lines of his face or at the very least trace them with his fingers. Daylight meetings had their drawbacks!

Pinky, who had been present for those dormitory midnight feasts and larks, simply tutted with mock severity, “Would it be much better today, Anthony? You don’t have the disposition to sit still for hours in one arabesque pose. Besides until you’re wed or become a trustee or some other thing you should be safe from that torture.” 

“What a shame that is,” Mister Eliot wrapped his fingers around his cutlery in a manner that prudish persons would not find appropriate. “Mister Spencer has a fine countenance. I am surprised he has not been asked to sit for a friend’s model. On the Continent it is not uncommon for stylish young folk’s faces to be featured in a fanciful work.” 

Squinting and leaning forward Pinky studied Anthony’s face as though he was seeing him for the first time all over again. Or, more uncomfortably, as if Anthony was one of his specimens to be mounted presently. “What do you think they’d use Anthony for? He’s not quite an Achilles nor Hector to my mind.” 

“Not wild or rumpled enough for Dionysus,” came Mister Eliot’s appraisal. “Or possessing the manner of Apollon.”

The knife perhaps dug into the plate a little too harshly, Anthony figured if they were going to judge him he might as well eat. “Watch what you say, gentlemen. I am still in possession of two good ears and am holding a knife.” 

With a flick of his wrist Pinky attempted a gesture of appeasement, “Anthony, my friend, you know I would never be insulting to you. This is merely a thought exercise and an artistic parlor game of sorts.” 

“A faun,” decided Mister Eliot in a tone that brooked no argument. “Or a shepherd of Arcadia. Not entirely tame, but not raucous or vulgar. One who is comfortable in that verdant bower and bewitches the viewer.” 

Never had it been said that Anthony was a saint or a monk. That judgment immediately led to him wondering if Mister Eliot could be brought to the family estate in summer and if he would like to chase about Anthony by the shaded brook. En dishabille of course. Bless the restaurant for having long thick tablecloths. 

“Ah.” Anthony swallowed a few times and tried to control his features. With any luck his less than innocent yearnings did not show on his face. “How intriguing. And rather flattering. At nearly three decades I can no longer play the youth even in a fantastic composition. All too soon I’ll resemble those haggard middle-aged figures in the background of Biblical paintings, you know the tax collectors and doubting masses.” 

“Liar,” Pinky sighed and put his chin in his hand. “You’ve one of those elegant timeless faces. You’ll look like a Shakespearean royal even at fifty with silver locks. I’ll go jowly.” 

“And what is wrong with jowls?” Mister Eliot gently laid a hand on Pinky’s elbow. “Between that and your gloriously imperious eyebrows you shall be able to walk into any hall and everyone will assume you are a world renowned authority on some matter before you are even saying a word.” 

At that Pinky beamed and had a laugh at his own expense. “If anyone else but you said that it would sound silly, but you make it nice, cousin. I’m awfully sorry you weren’t sent to Eton with us, we’d have had a better time if you were with us.” 

_A man who can lift the spirits of others without deceit or vanity is a jewel,_ Anthony’s heart sped up its tempo. How he wanted to embrace Mister Eliot for his deft kindness and sweet manners. 

The conversation turned to other topics of course. Anthony and Pinky shared more stories of their youth and in turn asked Mister Eliot to speak of his childhood across Iberia, the Pyrenees, and the Alps. For all that Anthony had done his Grand Tour from Mister E’s lips it took on entirely different color, the tang of the exotic was heavy on his tongue. What other vistas would be even more glorious when shared with Mister Eliot at his side? There came a tray of sweet pastries and assorted chocolates with tiny glasses of cordial brought to the table. Each one was a work of art in miniature that it was nearly a shame they were destined to be destroyed by the eating. But Anthony could not mourn their fate much when Mister Eliot savored them with hedonistic enthusiasm. 

“Are not the chocolates in Switzerland superior, cousin?” Pinky goggled then giggled. “Not that this establishment is lacking, but you have lived in the land of the most premier chocolatiers.” 

“Every time I bite into a chocolate it alights my senses as though I have never yet had the pleasure.” Mister Eliot’s register could rightly be described as a purr and nothing else.

Which when Anthony thought about it also described Mister E’s approach to kisses. Each and every one was an experience in and of itself, at no point did Mister Eliot indicate boredom or dissatisfaction. “I do believe you have hit upon the cure for ennui,” said Anthony. “Pinky and I have many friends who no longer find any delight in simple pleasures.” 

“It is their great loss,” Pinky said firmly. “There are a host of harmless amusements and pleasures that people look down upon just to feel superior to others.”

The afternoon was going even better than Anthony could have dreamed, but before he could even hint at a dinner in the near future Mister Eliot checked his pocket watch and scowled deeply.

“Cousin, Mister Spencer, please be excusing me for I have lost all sense of time in your delightful company.” Ernesto stood and picked up a briefcase by his feet, which was curious as Anthony knew the staff usually took charge of anything larger than a lady’s small purse for the customer’s convenience. Even more curious it was the same briefcase he had the night they met, but clearly repaired extensively in that short time. “Will you forgive me? I would not be leaving were it not of the most paramount urgency.” 

At this his gaze landed on Anthony, the weight and warmth of it a pleasant surprise that made up for the leave-taking. It certainly did not hurt that his Spanish accent crept up in Ernesto’s more frenzied state, Anthony had to wonder if it would come out during even more impassioned moments. “Of course, we cannot keep you from your business, Mister Eliot. Pinky and I still have much to catch up on.” 

“Dash away, Cousin,” Pinky said without any rancor or impatience. “I’ll have Mother chastise you Friday evening at the theatre to make up for your stepping out.”

“As if Auntie would say a cross word to me!” laughed Ernesto and he squeezed Anthony’s shoulder in passing as he left. 

Anthony outwardly ignored the tingling the all too brief contact left in its wake, in fact it was nearly electric.

They two school friends lingered a bit longer before leaving themselves. Pinky had a supper invitation he could not wriggle out of and Anthony had promised to dine with Biffles and Sarah. The sun had hied away and the gas lamps glowed like infant stars come to see what dark London evenings were all about. They waited for their respective cabs outside, (“I need to breathe outside air, Anthony, even if it is London air,” Pinky explained), and quite suddenly their light-hearted talk took a turn once they were alone. 

“Listen, Anthony,” Pinky’s voice dropped low and he put a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “You know that Spaniards and most of the Continentals are rather a great deal more affectionate with all and sundry, much more so than us English.” 

Anthony nodded. “Ah yes, that has been my experience as well.”

“My cousin Ernest is quite effusive and for all his excellent English his manners are more of Iberia than Albion,” Pinky said in a rush. “I know that it did not escape your notice as you are better at discerning people’s behaviors than I.” 

Pinky began to fiddle with his handkerchief, frowning ever so slightly then pasting on a brighter smile. “Right well, what I mean to say is that Ernest may not realise how his comportment may be seen in London amongst some. He means no harm, naturally and I know you are the very soul of empathy and compassion. Why you were the sweetest, dearest boy at Eton! You soothed all the ruffled tempers and charmed all the bullies into compliance.”

Biting his lip Anthony tried to reconcile that picture with his own memories of their school days. “By that account I was a mascot or pet. Besides I do no recall many mean-spirited types. I thought we were quite lucky to have as many friendly, mannerly fellows as we did.” 

“Only because of you, dear Anthony,” Pinky said bashfully. “No one dared upset your sunny demeanor. But as I was saying my cousin Ernest is very chummy. Indeed he is very much taken with you and clearly desires your good opinion and friendship.” 

“That is very kind of you to say, Pinky,” said Anthony as carefully as he could. “I found Mister Eliot to be amiable and full of good cheer as well. I look forward to socializing more time with the both of you this season.” 

“Of course,” stuttered Pinky still smiling. “But I daresay Anthony, Cousin Ernest strikes me as the sort who does not discriminate in love if you take my meaning.” 

“Oh?” Anthony prayed that his face did not betray him. “I d-do think I understand your meaning. Much like Achilles or Hercules.” 

“Exactly so,” Pinky gave a relieved sigh. “I of course do not think anything ill of the notion though I am not of that mold myself. There are countless examples in the natural world of animals finding companionship of different kinds. And many esteemed persons in history have been that way inclined while still being virtuous. If anything it is our modern prohibition that seems unnatural to me.” 

“That is very enlightened.” Anthony nodded. “What a better world we would live in if more people were as sensible as you, Pinky.” 

“I am pleased you think so, Spencer,” said Pinky. “But it occurs to me that Ernest may press his suit with you. He clearly adores you and I was afraid you would be shocked or disgusted if Cousin Ernest make an overture of great affection.” 

“Ahhhhhhh.” What could Anthony possibly say that would not either expose himself as a sodomite or make it seem as though he held hatred in his heart? 

“Ernest is a gentleman as are all Eliot men, well most of the Eliot men,” Pinky amended with endearing honesty. “I am certain if you let Cousin Ernest down gently he would not make any further advances upon your person.” 

“I am certain you are correct, Pinky.” Now it was Anthony’s turn to sigh in relief. “Mister Eliot, nor any Eliot, seems the type to trod where they are not welcome. I shall endeavor to be gentle with your cousin’s attentions.” 

A wide grin split Pinky’s face and he clapped Anthony on the shoulder with even greater chumminess than before. “Thank you most kindly, Anthony. I knew I could trust in your sweetness and discretion. I am so glad this will not spoil our merrymaking this season. Cousin Ernest is very social, more so than I, and I worried that we would have some trouble navigating the town.” 

Never before had Pinky fretted about the navigation of the London season. Which could only mean, “Pinky, am I detecting the faintest hint of matrimonial intention?” 

“Anthony, are you clairvoyant?” Pinky was agog, simply agog. No portrait of amazement could do his expression justice. “Or have you been speaking to my Aunt Martha?” 

“Pinky, if I have danced with your Aunt Martha of late we did not speak upon the condition of your bachelorhood,” answered Anthony. “But if you are hoping to find the butterfly to your moth, or however you think of it, I would be pleased to assist you in any way I can for I myself am not yet in the market so there is no competition involved. May I inquire if your cousin Mister Eliot is also seeking a bride?” 

“That is what all the relations are saying,” said Pinky. “But between you and me, my cousin did say that he did not believe he could set up a household in the near future. He is by no means destitute, but he has some pending investments that he would like to see return on before he enters the marital state.” 

“Ah, then we shall have you wed before Lady Day!” Anthony felt a knot undo itself in his stomach. He had not even been aware he had been holding his breath awaiting Pinky’s answer. “Between your dear auntie and I there is little doubt that you will languish in bachelorhood much longer. Tell me all the qualities you seek in a help-meet and I shall endeavor to match you with the sympathetic darling of your dreams.” 

“That will wait for another day,” said Pinky. “For I have kept you long enough and I must get home to dress for that supper.” 

Anthony Spencer calmed his pounding heart, which had beat staccato once Pinky had steered them into dangerous waters, and blushed to think of what Randall would make of it.

“I am probably due a well deserved scolding,” Anthony muttered to himself as he alighted into the cab that arrived for him. “For I brought this excitement upon myself!” 

Still the memory of Ernesto’s regard and the unexpected kindness of Pinky warmed him all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Pinky and Anthony would've referred to each other at school by surnames or nicknames. However, close friends would sometimes use given names in private which is why they are very informal here as Pinky considers his cousin to be within the private sphere rather than the public one.
> 
> * Achilles and Hercules (Heracles) were both classical shorthand for men in same-sex relationships during this time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony and Mr Eliot reunite at their Club after meeting by daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the shorter than usual chapter, but I wanted to get back to regular updates! While our lovebirds are very sentimental in this chapter, the mystery continues and more family high jinks will be introduced in the next outing. Thank you again for all your hits, kudos, and comments!

Mister Eliot was seated with the card players and his expressive features quirked between a mild grimaces and barely contained delight. Anthony did not know if his countenance actually betrayed his hand or was a charade, but whatever the case it was diverting. Indeed so absorbed was the man that he did notice Anthony’s entrance into the parlor. At least not until Anthony came up behind him and placed a whisper of a kiss on the nape of his neck. 

“Mi fauno,” Mister E reached back to bring Antony’s knuckles to his lips in response. “Are you here to bring me the blessings of Fortuna?” 

“I cannot speak for that esteemed lady.” Anthony rested against Mister E’s back and winked playfully at the other Club members - most whom gave gestures of acknowledgment and friendship. “Know that I give you my benedictions, wholly and without reservation.” 

There came a sweet exhalation from his beloved that conveyed affection and gratitude. “How the seraphim might envy me, gladdest of men! If you are to be spoiling me too greatly I may be struck down by the Heavens.” 

Mercutio and Hector groaned theatrically, though it was ambiguous whether it was from Ernesto’s love-talk or from the hands they laid down. 

“You have survived Jove’s kiss before,” Anthony pointed out. “I have full faith that you may again triumph over those attempts of a smiting.” 

“Gentlemen, I fear I must retire from our game,” Mr Eliot rose gracefully and inclined his head to indicate his leave taking. “I wish to test my own hypothesis: will I survive the kisses of dear Amoretto?” 

“If you do not survive the experience,” Raph began as he sauntered by, “I vow to comfort Amoretto in his grief and find him a suitable suitor in substitution. Tell me, Amoretto, would you want another dark-haired gentleman or will you try a tow-headed one for contrast?” 

Anthony nuzzled Mister E more plaintively and cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “Neither, Raphael! I would much rather find a Victor Frankenstein to revive my paramour. Then we would run away to the Alps to hide our scandalous mode of being.” 

Though it was but a jest Mr Eliot seemed touched by the sentiment. “You would take me even as an abomination?” He stroked Anthony’s hair, the reverence not lost on the latter.

“As though you could ever be an abomination in mine eyes.” Anthony dropped his voice low for such an admission was not for the ears of others - at least not the first time it was uttered. He straightened the lapels of his suit, admiring the fine figure of the man and half pretending that he was not bursting with such high regard. 

The sofa furthest from the hearth of the parlour was vacant and Anthony waited for Mister E to sit before arranging his own position, half-seated on the upholstery and half-lain across him. While it was the chilliest corner of the room, Anthony knew they could not risk being overheard speaking of their meeting outside the Club. His stomach fluttered so Anthony distracted Mr Eliot with teasing, shallow kisses in order to muster his courage. 

“I do apologize for surprising you yesterday,” Anthony at last murmured. “I was wild with the desire to know you by daylight that I threw all, perhaps not all, but most of my caution to the wind. I would understand if you wished to discontinue our acquaintance—” 

That garnered a deeper kiss and a hand in his auburn hair. “Yes, I am loquacious and sentimental, but I did not put on any deception at the card table. I am enraptured to meet with you again and there is not a particle of ill will in my soul towards you.”

Sweet-talk ought not make him melt at his age. Anthony had been flattered, cajoled, and cooed over by lovers before. How was it that it felt quite different with Ernesto Eliot? His previous lovers had not been false or any such thing, but the words were more substantive somehow from Mister E. One could fancy he was a fairy that subsisted on love and affection. “How glad I am to hear it!”

“You cannot imagine how my heart drummed when my cousin received your invitation.” In novels people’s voices were sometimes described as molten, Anthony was certain it was this exact timbre they meant. Mr Eliot laid a hand on Anthony’s hip and his thumb rubbed little circles there. A greater distraction Anthony had never known. “And the stories Percy told! I was even more proud of you, sweet man, for your good heart has been a treasure cultivated since childhood.” 

“I am not that good,” protested Anthony. The last thing he wanted was for his lover to have a false image of him, how dreadful it was to be put on a pedestal (and how well he knew it!). “Pinky sees me in a very positive light because we are dear friends.”

“That is proof enough for me.” The little circles were firmer now and Anthony did not know if he wanted them to continue as they were or move to a different part of his anatomy instead of merely his hipbone. “My cousin is not a poor judge of character however eccentric he may be.” 

Words formed and dissipated in Anthony’s head. Nothing was obscene about their position (slightly risque was not obscene in this private club) or Mr Eliot’s touches, but Anthony found himself transformed into a creature of adoration and lust. He placed Ernesto’s other hand over his heart and keened quietly, a noise high, sweet, and half-choked. “Mister E, I am filled with love-sickness, love-madness.” 

“From this alone?” Surprise coloured Ernesto’s voice. “Amoretto, I have hardly done anything at all.” 

“Your voice, your affection, your regard,” Anthony clutched the back of Mr Eliot's jacket, surely wrinkling the fine fabric. “It overwhelms my senses.”

Mister Eliot did not reply with words insomuch as he did with caresses, his lips brushed against Anthony’s ear before leaving a trail of kisses down to the edge of his cravat and one finger tugged lightly on the material to bare another inch of skin there as though that spot might yield some secret. Anthony could not remember if his neck had always been sensitive or if it was wholly due to Mister E’s touch. It mattered not for Anthony felt the warmth in his spine pooling, gathering strength as his cockstand was beginning to make itself known. 

“Amoretto, mi fauno, you are too much delight,” Mister E’s voice came out straining for breath. His pupils were dark and huge, plain to see even half hidden from the mask. “I shall expire from felicity!” 

It ought to have been the easiest thing in the world to extend his dear man an invitation upstairs. What was odd was that Mr Eliot did not seem as though he would make the suggestion either. There existed no lack of desire on either side and to join the Club Mister E had to be fully acquainted with its rules.

“If you expire what shall I do? Go play the lyre for your keeper to bring you back?” A cold coil of foreboding curled in Anthony’s gut. “You survived a bolt from Heaven, you are simply not allowed to have any such harrowing accidents for at least a decade. I forbid it!”

Mister E froze in his seat then sighed as if all his burdens had returned. “How I wish you could forbid it and the Cosmos would obey you! But I am an engineer and a traveler, there are many risks in my exploits. I cannot promise that I will never suffer from them.” 

It struck Anthony that perhaps that was the reason for Mister E’s reluctance to couple with him more intimately. While some folk might adopt the philosophy of carpe diem, Mr Eliot wanted to protect not simply his own heart, but the heart of any who loved him. 

“Whenever you need refuge from them, I will be here,” Anthony said firmly. All giddy romance was tamped down, though the same could not be said for the fire in his loins. “For conversation, for kisses, for more. You give me such gladness, it nourishes my soul. If I could do at least half as much for you I would be content.”

“What you have given me thus far, you cannot know,” Mr Eliot whispered. “To long for more would call down the wrath of Heaven, no mortal is allowed such happiness I think.”

The acrid scent of smoke filled Anthony’s nose despite being so far from the hearth. Mr Eliot must have been aware of it too for he gently, though firmly guided Anthony off his lap to rise. He scanned the room and pulled out his pocket watch, frowned and strode over to where Bernard was reading the evening paper. After some tense questioning Bernard folded the paper to some page and gave it to Mr Eliot. The news item gave Mister E no small alarm. For a moment Anthony was sure he was wholly forgotten as Mr Eliot gave instructions for the steward to fetch his coat, but he returned to Anthony before two entire minutes could pass.

“Urgent business, I presume?” Anthony kept a most plaintive whine out of his voice, it was most unfashionable. 

“Unfortunately, you are correct, mi fauno. I have lost track of the days,” Mr Eliot shook his head in self-reproach. “There are errands and doings that cannot be put off.” 

Anthony stood and leaned his head up for a kiss which Mister E delivered in tenderest apology. “If you cannot find me here then you know how to find your cousin.”

The smoke smell increased though Anthony could not see anything smoldering or burning outside of the lighting. “Until we meet once more, Amoretto.” Then lower, “Anthony, mi Antonio.” 

Mr Eliot left, not with a gay saunter or purposeful stride, but rather with the urgency of a man running to disaster. A knot formed in Anthony’s stomach. He sat back down on the sofa, half-dazed. 

“I am sorry, Amoretto,” Bernard came over, newspaper tucked under his arm and the man called Smith at his heels. “I do not know what agitated the gentleman so, but I feel as though I am responsible for ruining your night.”

“Not in the least, Bernard,” Anthony said. “We are all men with lives, businesses, and fortunes outside this sanctuary. Who knows what will call away any of us on any given evening? Besides, you do not write the newspaper-” 

Bernard’s honest face crumpled and Anthony realized he had stumbled upon his business. “I beg your pardon. Even if penned by a friend, I would not blame them for Aeneas’ moods. Unless perhaps it was malicious libel, but no dear friend of mine, whose name begins with a ‘B’, would pen libel.”

Bernard relaxed and most surprisingly embraced Anthony in gratified friendship. 

“Aeneas seized upon an article concerning the royal family,” Smith added quietly. “And seemed upset by some advertisement as well.”

“It is not for me to guess at his business,” Anthony said though his curiosity piqued, as would any person of sense’s curiosity would be. 

“If Aeneas is in trouble,” Bernard said. “I would assist you both in any manner that I can. You’ve always been so kind to me here.”

“I shall call upon your aid if it comes to that,” Anthony told him gravely. He kissed Bernard’s cheeks and tried to convey all his gratitude in his countenance. 

Smith gave a solemn nod of his head then led Bernard back to their table, leaving behind the newspaper. 

Anthony read the article in question (by a “Jonathan B. Cranford”) and could not see what would spur his beloved engineer and traveler to action. Likewise none of the advertisements sparked any revelations though there was one about clockwork repair that Mr Eliot might have found of interest. Just as he resolved to put the entire affair out of his mind and join his friends for cards Anthony nearly tripped and as he righted himself the source of the smoke smell came into view.

Where Mr Eliot had stood before leaving was a single black shoe print that had burnt the carpet down to its backing. 

Still smoldering.

**Author's Note:**

> J. J. Grandville was an early 19th century French caricaturist and illustrator. In his later career he was best known for his fanciful illustrations as censorship made it difficult to continue his work as a satirist. [[Wikipedia]](https://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Ignace_Isidore_G%C3%A9rard_Grandville) [[Les Fleurs Animées at Project Gutenberg]](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54972/54972-h/54972-h.htm) [[Other Grandville Titles at Archive.Org]](https://www.archive.org/search.php?query=%28%28subject%3A%22Grandville%2C%20J.%20J.%22%20OR%20subject%3A%22Grandville%2C%20J.%20J%2E%22%20OR%20subject%3A%22Grandville%2C%20J%2E%20J%2E%22%20OR%20subject%3A%22J.%20J.%20Grandville%22%20OR%20subject%3A%22J.%20J%2E%20Grandville%22%20OR%20subject%3A%22J%2E%20J%2E%20Grandville%22%20OR%20creator%3A%22J.%20J.%20Grandville%22%20OR%20creator%3A%22J.%20J%2E%20Grandville%22%20OR%20creator%3A%22J%2E%20J%2E%20Grandville%22%20OR%20creator%3A%22J%2E%20J.%20Grandville%22%20OR%20creator%3A%22Grandville%2C%20J.%20J.%22%20OR%20creator%3A%22Grandville%2C%20J.%20J%2E%22%20OR%20creator%3A%22Grandville%2C%20J%2E%20J%2E%22%20OR%20creator%3A%22Grandville%2C%20J%2E%20J.%22%20OR%20title%3A%22J.%20J.%20Grandville%22%20OR%20title%3A%22J.%20J%2E%20Grandville%22%20OR%20title%3A%22J%2E%20J%2E%20Grandville%22%20OR%20description%3A%22J.%20J.%20Grandville%22%20OR%20description%3A%22J.%20J%2E%20Grandville%22%20OR%20description%3A%22J%2E%20J%2E%20Grandville%22%20OR%20description%3A%22Grandville%2C%20J.%20J.%22%20OR%20description%3A%22Grandville%2C%20J.%20J%2E%22%29%20OR%20%28%221803-1847%22%20AND%20Grandville%29%29%20AND%20%28-mediatype:software%29)


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